#AmericanWriters
I didn’t go to church today, I trust the Lord to understand. The surf was swirling blue and whi… The children swirling on the sand. He knows, He knows how brief my s…
Let’s straighten this out, my litt… And reach an agreement if we can. I entered your door as an honored… My shoes are shined and my trouser… And I won’t stretch out and read…
Affection is a noble quality; It leads to generosity and jollity… But it also leads to breach of pro… If you go around lavishing it on r…
There here are words of radical ad… Young man, be a snob. Yes, if you are in search of argum… Why I’ve gottem. Let the personnel managers differ;
Bound to your bookseller, leap to… Deluge your dealer with bakshish a… Lean on the counter and never say… Wodehouse and Wooster are with us… Flourish the fish-slice, your butt…
Barber, barber, come and get me; Hairy torrents irk and fret me. Hair and hair again appears; And climbs like ivy round my ears. Hair across my collar gambols;
Senescence begins And middle age ends The day your descendents Outnumber your friends.
The pig, if I am not mistaken; Supplies us sausage, ham, and baco… Let others say his heart is big— I call it stupid of the pig.
Foreigners are people somewhere el… Natives are people at home; If the place you’re at Is your habitat, You’re a foreigner, say in Rome.
Tell me, O Octopus, I begs Is those things arms, or is they l… I marvel at thee, Octopus; If I were thou, I’d call me Us.
In spite of her sniffle, Isabel’s chiffle. Some girls with a sniffle Would be weepy and tiffle; They would look awful,
Go hang yourself, you old M.D.! You shall not sneer at me. Pick up your hat and stethoscope, Go wash your mouth with laundry so… I contemplate a joy exquisite
The hands of the clock were reachi… In an old midtown hotel; I name no name, but its sordid fam… Is table talk in hell. I name no name, but hell’s own fla…
Now another day is breaking, Sleep was sweet and so is waking. Dear Lord, I promised you last ni… Never again to sulk or fight. Such vows are easier to keep
Master I may be, But not of my fate. Now come the kisses, too many too… Tell me, O Parcae, For fain would I know,